


are you really gonna save the world this way

by mini_puffs



Series: In Hindsight [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs
Summary: Now?The skulls seem to ask him, the effects waning off.Techno closes the chest. “Not yet.”Or: The night before the revolution.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Other(s)
Series: In Hindsight [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979266
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	are you really gonna save the world this way

Incessant wails and shrieks from within the walls of his base only grow louder the more Techno waits above, flipping through pages of some book he’d stolen from a burnt-down village weeks ago. It’s not any good, for both the book and the noises, as he’s done nothing but stare at the same page for god-knows-how-long and still doesn’t have a clue as to what they’re even talking about. Something about potions, and he’s made enough to double the whole server but it never hurts to be more prepared. Especially for tomorrow.

Another scream echoes and the water bubbles. Techno sighs, brushing a frayed piece of hair out of his face and grabbing a potato to chew while waiting by the edge. Cooked—thankfully—can’t risk his debilitating health being his downfall. Now that’s just embarrassing. The next scream comes and the whole pool ripples across, which he takes as a sign to hop down. 

He lands on the floor with a loud _thud,_ water dripping from his frame and the ceiling. It makes tiny _plops_ across the stone as he makes his way to the armor stands and chests. The torches are great at drying him off fast but they’re nothing compared to Netherite, somehow still hot to touch even after hours of being in his underground freezer/secret base (they’re interchangeable terms, really). None of them have been moved from their stands and the potions are safely tucked away in their chests, the TNT untouched. 

Techno rubs his eyes. The heck did he come here for anyway—

Ah, there it is. 

Rounding the corner, he yawns as the ender chest in the back rattles, black and purple sparks swirling around it like dying embers. Oh, arson. Wilbur and Sapnap are rubbing off on him. Scratching comes from within the chest followed by more shrieks and it takes everything for Techno to not cringe and immediately head back up.

“Alright,” he says, inching closer. What in the world is he supposed to say. “Cha—calm down.”

The chest rattles more violently and he sighs. So much for that plan. He takes the sword from his sheath and pries the chest open with it, covering his face from the sudden release of ender particles and void before peering down inside.

His extra set of armor and weapons lean against the side. Potions lay scattered around, bubbling and fizzing as he shoves their bottles out of the way. Golden apples and their sweet scent make his head spin (or maybe that’s his headache, or the influx of dust and god knows what endermen leave behind), not losing their sheen or enchantments. He’s about ready to eat one and leave but there’s a soft _whisper_ from within and Techno knocks the stack of apples down to grab the skulls beneath it.

“Listen,” he says. “Listen, can you please—“

Ash coats his palms and Techno sneezes, setting the skulls onto the counter as he coughs and shakes to keep himself from slipping onto the stone tiles. All that time in the nether and what did he get? Annoying haunted skeletons that won’t shut up and poison him. Better than the government, he supposes, blinking away the drowsiness. There’s laughter echoing in the background, blurred faces fading in and out of his vision. 

He really, really needs more sleep.

“Bruh.” Techno turns back to the wither skulls. “What,” he says, and more forceful, _“What.”_

The wither skulls jeer at him. Hollow eyes and ashy bones offer him nothing but silence as he props himself back up to stare right back at them.

For something dead, skeletons can be scrutinizing when they want to be. Peer pressure from the afterlife—now that’s _exactly_ what he needs to get a good night’s rest. There goes his sleep schedule for the next week. A strand of hair falls in front of his face and he brushes it back to braid the rest down.

“So,” he starts, breaking the awkward silence between them. It’s a dead skull, for god’s sake. This is what his life has come to. “Are you guys going to finally shut up or—“

More whispering. Swirls of ender particles float on top of the skull’s heads as the ash spills off the counter and onto the floor. Oh yeah. Mother Nature and her demon gang are all in on this endless cycle of freaking him out (granted, he’s not yet, but maybe they’ll surprise him one day). The soul sand is tucked away safely in another chest but at this point, Techno wouldn’t be surprised if the skulls sprung legs themselves and assembled the Wither together. 

_Now,_ they seem to chant. _Now. Now. Now._

He barely spares the clock a glance. “It’s 3 AM.”

_Now?_

As thrilling as it would be, he’d spoil the main event. Techno’s hands itch for the blocks regardless, the urge to build them up just to let them tear everything down with no one around to stop them. 

Too easy.

“Not yet,” he answers the skulls. They still have a tyrant to take down first anyway.

_Now._

“Soon.” That satiates the skulls, their teeth _click_ ing together and the ender particles swirling on top of the chest. “Soon.”

_Soon._

That is literally what he said. “Yes.”

_Soon._

Techno sighs, burying his face in his hands and pausing to crack one eye open. Splashes of red, white, and blue flood his vision and he promptly shuts it. No, no—no more. None of that patriotic garbage. He blindly grabs for an apple and chews, shoulders relaxing as the bits go down his throat like honey. Vision much clearer, the skulls stare at him with star and smiley face stickers (must have been Tommy or Tubbo, he laments) stuck to their chins and no ash in sight. _Subscribe to Technoblade,_ engraved on their foreheads. 

Almost funny to think these things will murder dozens by tomorrow. 

Yawning, Techno shoves them into the ender chest and dusts himself off. There are water droplets clinging to his glasses that he doesn’t bother to clean up. He puts one foot in the water elevator and shoots one last glance to the chest. 

No whisper sounds other than his own. _“Soon.”_

He’s had enough of good people getting swept up by nations.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, holding a wither skull: I just think they’re neat
> 
> i dont know what this is you tell me lmao


End file.
